I'm rubber, you're glue

I don't do well when I'm startled. If someone says something horrible in my presence, I usually have no idea how to react. I get flustered and stay silent. Or act like it's okay.

I'm not sure if Los Angeles is making me an angrier person, but I'm getting better in these situations. Every time something cruddy happens to me, I take note of it. I digest the information, let the incident marinate awhile, and come up with a "what I should have done" plan. This makes me better prepared to handle whatever else comes my way.

Speaking of which ...

My trip to Montana last December went fantastically well. I found purpose in life (weird, seeing as I should have been in a food coma) and had a great time hanging out with my family and friends.

Unfortunately, an obnoxious child kicked my good spirits in the nuts.

Browsing the aisles of some chain store in a sterile mall, a 5 year-old turned to her mother, pointed at me, and said, "That lady is UGLY!"*

First of all, holy self-esteem killer! Second, what kind of mother doesn't apologize when that happens?! Third, GAAAAAAAAH!

I wish I'd said something. I didn't. I stayed silent, not sure that what I thought had happened had *actually* happened.

This year, I am prepared for naughty child antics. My response will be:

"Santa is a lie."

*Unlike the demon-spawn and her family members, I have dark brown hair and light olive skin. They were rather Arian. I assume this was her issue with my appearance. I have just enough self-esteem to know I'm not a hideous beast. I think.

Political Rantings

I'm not going to claim to be an expert on politics. But I have plenty of opinions.

I'm really, really tired of the way things have been going.

I'm tired of hypocrites saying that the democrats are bastards for increasing the size and scope of government and accuse them of infringing our our personal lives. You know who is infringing on my personal life? They are. They are the ones who are the infringers (my own word)!* They increase the government's control over my life while saying they stand for the exact opposite.

They tell me that I cannot choose whether or not to have a child, they tell me I cannot watch porn, they dictate what can and cannot be on my television (oh no! boobs and swearing BAD, violence and gore GOOD!), they tell me who I can love, who I can marry, what I can smoke, which (if any) god I should believe in, how I should love god (should I choose to believe him/her/it/them), they label me a communist, they fear sexuality - there are states that ban the sale of sex toys (and to steal a line from the Vagina Monologues, I have yet to hear of a mass murder committed with a vibrator). Get out of my life. How dare they.

They say they're fiscally responsible and therefore smarter than democrats when it comes to the economy, but look at the mess we're in. And how dare we bail out a large corporation. These people tout the free market, but we, the taxpayers, have to pay for the messes some companies made? Eighty five *billion* dollars. And yet we shouldn't invest a smaller amount of money into health care for the people. So that people can get basic preventative care and actually save us money - money that is currently spent on emergency room bills that could have been prevented. What's so scary about an ounce of prevention? Apparently suggesting it makes me a communist gay baby killing godless heathen.

How dare they tell me that gay couples are threatening the institution of marriage. You know what threatens marriage? All those divorces those same people are having. Not that I think people shouldn't divorce, but I'm just saying... If your own marriage is in shambles, or if you've remarried 3 times, you're probably not in a good place to be giving anyone advice. Bah.

How dare they suddenly claim to become feminists, just to tout someone with a résumé that is severely lacking. A vagina doesn't make you a feminist. It is NOT sexist to be critical of a person applying to be the backup for one hell of an important job. It IS sexist to vote against an Equal Pay Act. It IS sexist to say women aren't smart enough to make hugely important decisions about their own bodies. Their own, private bodies. Back to my point about increasing the size and scope of our government...

I'm sick of being accused of hating America. I don't see how caring about what happens in this country makes me anti-American. Apparently every parent that ever told their child they shouldn't touch a hot stove actually hated their children. Those a$$holes.

I'm sick of people being so afraid of words. I'm sick of being hated for speaking my mind. I'm sick of having my morals called into question.

If you don't like what I'm saying, ignore me. Or argue with me about my points, not my character. F*** anyone who wants to say that I'm a worthless human being. Luckily the chances are that if you read this far, then you're not one of the people I'm ranting about.

One last gripe. People who are willfully ignorant. I'm okay with it if you disagree with me. I'm not okay if you refuse to acknowledge hard facts. Or if you somehow think that being in touch with "real" people means you can't be intelligent or articulate. Being smart does not mean a person is out of touch. Or that they are elitist. I especially don't understand the people that think being smart actually makes you stupid. Understanding complex issues and using big words does not make you some out of touch moron. It doesn't mean that there aren't a ton of out of touch morons out there, but education levels and political leanings have absolutely nothing to do with that epidemic.

That's it. I'm done. I am fed up and needed to say my piece. I've spent years doing everything I can to be polite, but I just can't do it any more.

*Apparently "infringer" is not a word of my own creation. Awkward.

Like a rock. A snoring rock.

And that rock is my boyfriend.

Story:

I spent most of the evening cleaning the bedroom - sweeping, throwing crap out, organizing the large closet, dusting, wiping stuff off, and singing along to Chicago as it played on the little 13" tv we have on the dresser. I have been really, really looking forward to sleeping in a reduced dust environment, especially after a long, hot day and hours spent making a billion potstickers (from scratch).

My boyfriend has a tendency to go to bed before I do - which is fine. I tucked him in (ain't that cute ;-)?), and went back to the living room to finish watching The Soup on E!, followed by a rousing episode of Saturday Night Live, starring Steve Carrell. Sometime in the middle of my late night television coma, I hear him open a door, stumble out of the bedroom, grunt, go into the bathroom, close the door, open the door, go back to the bedroom and close the door. This didn't exactly raise any alarms with me - zombie boyfriend is fairly typical around 1 o'clock in the morning. Saturday Night ends and I head to the bathroom; brush my teeth, wash my face, wipe off the counter. Then I wandered into the kitchen, made sure the oven was off, turned off the light. I grabbed a slice of cucumber, for my guinea pig, dropped it off in her cage, then walked to the bedroom to tuck in.

I tried to turn the knob.

IT. WAS. LOCKED.

I try it again, in case I'm channeling my inner blonde and...

IT. IS STILL. LOCKED.

I panic slightly and knock.

I knock again. And again. I get a bit frantic and start to pound and suddenly I am incredibly aware of both the bony part of the knuckle of my middle finger and the surprisingly loud sound the hollow door makes. I stop, reflecting on the fact that the neighbors are probably wishing ill upon me and mine.

Just in case, I try the knob again.

No dice. The frantic feeling turns to rage as I realize that I'm not going to get into my cozy, cool, soft, fancy, fabulous, awesome, loverly bed in my super clean bedroom. I start pounding on the door, wailing on it with both fists, trying out different rhythms as I attempt to shake and pound it out of its frame. "Hey? Hey! HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEY!!!!! F#@K."

So here I am, typing on my laptop, in the living room, trying to figure out how to sleep on either the tiny rug or the wood frame, uncomfortable love seat we purchased from IKEA.

I am not happy.

Just imagine if someone broke in one night and I needed to rouse him from sleep to save me from a bad guy ninja - but instead my knight in fuzzy boxers snores through the entire ordeal. Or if there were, heaven forbid, a fire. What if I have an allergic reaction to my guinea pig, puff up like a blowfish and go into anaphylactic shock? Or, just humor me here, what if I WANT TO SLEEP IN MY OWN F@$KING BED.?!?!?! WHAT THEN, HUH?????!!??!!!

BAH.




*Additional note: The worst thing is the fact that I literally just moved the air mattress from the hallway closet (re: accessible), into the bedroom closet (re: inaccessible) this very evening.